The Injured Mockingbird
by glowing-ice
Summary: My alternate ending for the book, To Kill a Mockingbird. From Aunt Alexandra forcing Scout to drink tea to the injured mockingbird. Read and Review.


A/N: Here's my alternate ending for To Kill a Mockingbird. It's for an English project. Enjoy...

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Here my ending picks up: Page 253

Aunt Alexandra was thriving. Miss Maudie must have silenced the whole missionary society at one blow, for Aunty again ruled the roost. Her refreshments grew even more delicious.

This made up quite a bit for the days that I was forced to stay inside on the few remaining weekends of the waning summer. Aunty had decided upon letting me listen intently during both the business part of the meeting and the refreshments. I always contented myself with sitting next to Miss Maudie and answering the occasional questions directed towards me by the various ladies.

I sat still, as usual, on a warm, hazy day in mid-September, sipping my tea, carefully trying not to spill it on my pink dress. Miss Stephanie Crawford and Aunt Alexandra were deep in a joint discourse about Catholics and their "peculiar habits."

My eyes wandered longingly outside to Jem's distant figure playing by himself. I wondered if he was still feeling down about the trial, as he had often been of late. He had acted superior, saying something to me about being too young to understand such acts against humanity. Was he just trying to act superior or did he mean it?

"Jean Louse," Mrs. Merriweather's high-pitched tone she used only with children interrupted my musings, "what is _your_ opinion of their behavior?"

I had long ago lost track of the flow of the conversation. I fidgeted slightly and shrugged (afterwards remembering that it was unladylike to shrug). "I agree with you," I managed to reply. Miss Maudie case a sharp glance at me.

"Absolutely," Mrs. Merriweather continued. "I simply don't understand those foot-washing Baptists. It's difficult as it is to help them turn to the way of the Lord without 'em shutting themselves up in that house of theirs."

It suddenly dawned upon me that she was talking about the Radleys. I bit my lip, recalling the treasures that Jem and I had found and immensely enjoyed and the time when Boo Radley was kind enough to put a blanket on me when I was cold.

"…and I just don't understand why it is that they believe they're so high and mighty above everyone else. I walked past Mr. Nathan Radley the other day and he had his head held up so high, like he was even higher than the Almighty, I tell you..."

I was observing Miss Maudie's face very closely. Her lips were pursed and she looked as if she had something to say about the topic, but wasn't sure if it would be rude to interrupt Mrs. Merriweather long, one-sided discussion.

For a moment, I forgot about Aunty's attempt to make me a lady. "Mrs. Merriweather, I was wrong. I think Boo Radley is a very kind man," I burst out. "He even gave Jem an' me some gum and some dolls."

Mrs. Merriweather gave me a look of pity and annoyance and paused, turning a light shade of pink. Miss Maudie squeezed my hand in (what I thought to be) a rather gratuitous manner.

Aunt Alexandra must have realized how uncomfortable situation I had caused. "Jean Louise, perhaps you want to go outside and play with your brother?" she stated the command in the form of a question, but she didn't sound cross at all. There might even have been a hint of appreciation in her voice.

"Yes'm," returned to my room and changed into my overalls with the satisfied feeling that Atticus would have been proud of me.

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I joined Jem playing outside with his air rifle. "Aww shucks, Jem, why didn' you tell me that you were going to play with that? I could've gotten mine."

"Shhh," he shushed me.

"Watcha shushin' me for?" I demanded.

Jem clamped his hand over my mouth. "SHH!" He made the noise even louder than what I'd said. It was then I saw that his rifle was cocked and ready to shoot at something moving in the large oak tree. I kept very still, hardly able to breathe. I wondered if Atticus would approve of his shooting a –

A deafening explosive noise from the rifle made me jump. "It's a squirrel, Scout!" Jem shouted excitedly. "It's a squirrel!" Something rustled in the leaves of the tree, diving outward, and then falling to a heap on the ground.

We approached Jem's kill, and saw that it was a light gray color. I gasped, realizing, what it was: a mockingbird.

Jem's face was expressionless. "Oh no" was all he said.

"What are we going to do?" I asked, ready to panic. Atticus had told us never to shoot one. How was he going to punish us?

"I thought it was a squirrel," Jem said, as if trying to justify his sin.

The small creature on the ground suddenly fluttered a wing. "It's not dead." I knelt over the small, injured bird.

"We're not letting this one die," Jem said firmly, picking the fragile thing up. Strangely, it wasn't trying to escape his gently cupped hands. "It's okay," he whispered to our wounded captive. I suspected that it was more to comfort himself than anything.

We slowly walked to our house, walking by the Radley place. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a flicker of life in the window of the Radley house. I poked Jem to get his attention. He turned his head, seeing the same pale, ashen face that I saw. Our eyes remained glued to the house, despite all of Atticus' lessons about not staring.

As if in slow motion, the door creaked open, revealing a tall man with a thing, wiry frame stepped out uncertainly onto the porch steps, almost as if he was afraid it might not support his weight. He came closer to us, and we were too mesmerized to back away.

"Hi Boo," I scoured my mind for words, but couldn't find any, but those two. "Hi."

The man held out his hands. Jem was speechless, but knew exactly what he meant, and handed over the mockingbird.

"I –I," the man was stuttering, "I'll take care of it."

Miraculously, Jem nodded mutely and tried to smile, but grimaced instead. It didn't seem to bother him at all that this man –this stranger –was taking a mockingbird from him. At the same time though, he didn't seem like a stranger at all.

"Will it be better?" I inquired, showing my concern.

The man nodded, and a shadow of a smile flashed for but a moment on his face. "Y-yes, it will." With that, he retreated back into his house. It'd be the last time we ever saw him.

The two of us climbed the steps of our house and listened to Miss Stephanie Crawford jabbering away about how Tyrell Kingston was guilty of being rude to everyone.

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A few weeks later, we heard the familiar sweet song of a mockingbird outside on the tree in our yard. Somehow, I knew, even before I checked outside and saw its slightly shorter right wing, that this bird had been the one we rescued. Perhaps it had been singing to us –singing its heart out with gratitude that we hadn't killed it. Somehow, it felt as if the guilt we felt from our childhood sin of torturing Boo Radley had been lifted that day.

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A/N: Review on your opinion. 


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